Rogue of the Highlands: Rogue, Book 1

by Cynthia Breeding

  Ian cleared his throat. “I want ye to know, lass, that I dinna care about the welts.”

  Her chin lifted and even with the mask in place, he could see a look of interest in her green eyes.

  “I only want to do what pleases ye. Please believe that.”

  Full lips curved upward in a small smile and Ian felt immensely relieved. So far, this was going well. Jillian was listening and hadn’t shunned him. Did he dare ask her to dance? Would she welcome his arm around her?

  Ian swallowed. “Would ye do me the favor of dancing with me, lass?”

  She inclined her head again and he led her to the dance floor, careful not to hold her too close, lest she panic. A gentle, slow hand was what she needed.

  He was surprised and pleased when she inched marginally closer to him and her hand tightened on his biceps. He rested his head against hers briefly. “Ah, lass, I would like to finish what we started the other night. Will ye trust me?”

  For an answer, she pressed her breasts against his chest and Ian almost shouted for joy. “Tonight then, when we get home—”

  “No,” she whispered. “Now.”

  He leaned back, surprised, to look down at her, but her expression was hidden behind the mask. “Now?”

  She nodded and stood on tiptoe to murmur in his ear, “Before I lose my nerve.” The faint scent of roses from her hair wafted toward him.

  “But lass, ’tis a party. We canna—”

  Putting a finger to his lips, she smiled again and crooked a finger. “Come.”

  Ian followed her through the ballroom and down a hallway towards the back stairs that the kitchen help used. Jillian preceded him to the next floor and opened a guest bedroom. She gestured with her hand for him to enter and then closed the door.

  Ian put an arm around her, his hand reaching for her mask.

  Jillian stayed his hand. “I’d rather leave it on.”

  Ian thought he understood. She was still embarrassed by what she thought was a horrible disfigurement and a part of her still wanted to hide from him. He’d play along for now, but he planned on putting all her fears to rest. Soon.

  She inched her way to the bed and again, he was pleased that she didn’t hesitate about that. The days away from him had obviously given her time to think.

  He leaned her backwards onto the bed and then lay down beside her. One hand stroked her collarbone, working slowly toward her breast as he leaned over to kiss her.

  The door swung open so fast that it hit the wall with a solid thump. Startled, Ian looked up. Wesley and Sherrington stood in the doorway.

  The earl’s face was white, his teeth clenched. “What the hell are you doing with my wife?” he asked.

  With a sinking feeling, Ian looked down at the woman who lay sprawled halfway beneath him.

  Delia removed her mask and smiled.

  Jillian took a deep breath as her rented carriage rolled to a stop in front of Lord Liverpool’s town house. She had not wanted to come to this masquerade ball, but Mari’s tearful entreaties had finally convinced her. After all, Lady Jersey would not miss the prime minister’s party and her sponsorship of Mari guaranteed not only Almack’s, but invitations to all of the important events of next year’s Season.

  As she walked up the front steps to the waiting butler, she was glad she had her mask in place. It was going to be humiliating enough to face Ian after the disdain he had so clearly voiced, but at least she could hide the pain that she felt. Whatever had she been thinking to let him disrobe her?

  She sensed something was wrong as soon as she entered the ballroom. An unusual hush fell over the crowd as the butler announced her. Heads turned in her direction, the expression on the men’s faces grim and somber. Several of the women arched eyebrows at her and ladies Tindale and Havisham looked outraged. Violetta glared at her and Amelia narrowed her eyes. Jillian felt as though shards of ice and fiery flames were both being hurled at her at once.

  She felt her face grow warm behind the mask. Surely…surely, Ian had not been cad enough to spread tales of what had happened to her at Rufus’s hands. Even as repelled as he had been, she still couldn’t imagine him doing anything so spiteful. Or, she admitted to herself miserably, she didn’t want to think he would despise her that much.

  Lady Jersey appeared by her side and handed her a glass of ratafia. “You might want to drink this,” she said.

  Jillian turned to her, hoping she wouldn’t find hatred and loathing in the other woman’s eyes, but Lady Jersey looked sympathetic.

  “What is wrong?” Jillian managed to ask. “I know that I’m very late, but—”

  Lady Jersey gave her a rueful smile. “Indeed, it would have been much better had you arrived earlier, but what is done is done, as Lady Macbeth would say.”

  Shakespeare? Jillian frowned. That Scottish lady had been responsible for murder and mayhem. She took off her mask. “Has someone been killed?”

  Lady Jersey’s smile curved upward. “Not yet.”

  “Please tell me what’s happened. And why am I getting such dagger looks?”

  “Well, my dear, it seems that your delicious looking Highlander committed quite a faux pas.”

  “Ian?” Jillian quickly scanned the room, but didn’t see him. She looked around for the prince too, and was relieved that he wasn’t present. She hoped Ian hadn’t chosen to get into fisticuffs at this final ball. “What’s he done?”

  “The Earl of Sherrington found him in a bedchamber with the earl’s not-so-faithful wife.”

  Jillian felt the blood drain from her face and grabbed the edge of a small table near her to support her suddenly weak knees. Dear Lord. Had Ian been so thoroughly repulsed by her welts that he had sought the silken smoothness of another woman’s skin? Delia had flirted with him at the rout. He had grasped quickly enough that women in Society married for wealth or position and not for love, and that many of them sought that pleasure elsewhere. But Jillian had always thought Ian disproved of such relationships. Had she been mistaken?

  And then another thought hit her and she felt like one of her Andalusian colts had put a hoof directly in her stomach. Lord Liverpool was the prime minister. This disaster would get to Prinny’s ears before Jillian could even return home. Her hope of Prinny’s paying her now was pointless.

  “I don’t understand,” she said numbly. “Lord Cantford respects the earl. I find it…very hard to believe he would deliberately cuckold him.”

  “We all know Delia gives her favors freely, even though Sherrington does his best to ignore it.” Lady Jersey slanted a look at Jillian. “I don’t think our charming Scottish earl was interested in Delia at all.”

  Jillian gave her a puzzled look. “Then why would he be with her in such a compromising way?”

  “Because I think that he thought he was escorting you.”

  She felt her eyes go round. “Pardon me?”

  Lady Jersey gave her another wry smile. “It’s obvious to any woman with an ounce of romance in her soul that your…um, student…has been smitten with you from the beginning.”

  Jillian felt her cheeks grow warm again. After Ian’s reaction to what he had seen, she doubted that he would be eager to tumble with her anywhere, let alone in a bedroom at the prime minister’s house in the middle of a party. But she couldn’t tell Lady Jersey that. “I’m sure that Lord Cantford would have recognized me.”

  “You and Delia are the same height. You have the same hair color. Your features are similar and she had her mask on. She was also wearing green which, as I have observed, is the color you are most likely to wear. But I could be wrong.” Lady Jersey shrugged slightly. “As I said, it would have been better if you had arrived early.”

  Jillian felt the kick of another hoof. Could she have prevented this disaster if she had not been so proudly stubborn about attending? She should have gone back to Wesley’s townhouse days ago. Probably should not even have left. She should have faced Ian sooner. Gotten it over with.

  “What’s going to ha
ppen now?” she asked tentatively.

  “Sherrington has called him out, of course,” Lady Jersey replied. “At dawn, day after tomorrow.”

  Jillian’s hand flew to her mouth. A duel? Dear, dear God. Someone could get killed. The unspoken code of dueling was that if the offending party apologized, the challenger would accept it. If she could get Ian to apologize…

  “Where is Ian?” Lady Jersey’s eyebrow arched at the familiarity, but Jillian was too upset to care.

  “He left.”

  “Lord Sherrington then,” Jillian said and hoped her voice didn’t sound desperate. The earl was a reasonable man. Perhaps if Jillian could convince him that Ian thought it was she… She would be shamed and disgraced, but if it kept the two men from fighting, she would do it. She just hoped that her reputation wouldn’t be in such shreds that Mari’s chances for a good marriage wouldn’t be totally gone.

  “The earl took his wife home, much to her displeasure.”

  She would pay him a call in the morning then. Somehow, she had to get him to believe that Ian would not cuckold him. Jillian prayed that was true. If only she could tell Lord Sherrington the real truth about his unfaithful wife and Wesley…but Delia would seek revenge for that in the worst way possible, by hurting any chance Mari still had left to participate in the Season.

  “I think it’s better if I don’t stay,” Jillian said. “I don’t know how many direct cuts I can take.”

  Lady Jersey laughed. “My dear, they may cut you, but I dare say there isn’t a woman in this place who isn’t secretly envious of you.”

  “What?” Jillian asked, stunned.

  “Your highlander is quite a man,” Lady Jersey replied. “Tall, strong, handsome, with a sinfully wicked smile, yet one gets the feeling that he would fiercely guard and protect the woman he considers his own. Rather like one of those Knights of the Round Table from Arthur’s days.” She sighed and looked around the room. “Not many men wear shining armor anymore. If I were you, I’d go to him.” Then she winked. “I always thought Lancelot would be damn good in bed. Why don’t you find out?”

  Lancelot indeed. Jillian paid the driver as he let her out at Wesley’s townhouse. That bit of fornication had led to the queen’s downfall, just as this unfortunate disaster tonight might lead to her own. Jillian wanted to preserve whatever shreds of dignity and decency she could for Mari’s sake.

  Givens let her in the door. “Welcome home, my lady,” he said as though she had merely returned from the country instead of having run away.

  “Is Lord Cantford here?”

  “In the library, my lady.”

  Jillian walked down the hall and hesitated with her hand on the doorknob. She had to get past her own pride to convince Ian not to duel. She lifted her chin and opened the door.

  Ian looked up at her from where he sat sprawled across the divan. A half-empty bottle of Scotch stood on the table.

  He attempted to stand, but she waved him down and eyed him warily. When Rufus had too much to drink the consequences were painful. She wondered if she should perhaps wait until tomorrow to talk to Ian.

  “Sit down, lass,” he said and motioned to the place beside him.

  She didn’t move. “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “I am trying verra hard to be, but nae, not yet.”

  Jillian started toward a chair, but Ian was surprisingly quick. He snaked his hand out to grab her arm and she sank with a non-too-graceful whoof beside him.

  “I’ll nae bite,” he said and poured another glass. Instead of drinking it though, he handed it to her. “Ye might be needing this.”

  She stared at it for a moment and then took it and gulped the fiery liquid. Her eyes squinted shut tearfully from the burning sensation and she gasped. Then its warmth slowly spread through her. Ian chuckled.

  “Ye might want to sip it, lass.”

  She put the empty glass down. “What happened tonight?”

  His face grew hard. “I doona want to talk about it.”

  Jillian sighed in exasperation. “I do. I arrived at the party to find that Lord Sherrington had found you in a…a compromising situation with his wife.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye?” Jillian found herself staring at him incredulously. “Aye? You’re admitting to seducing Delia?”

  Ian snorted. “Nae.”

  “Could you answer me with something besides ’aye’ and ’nae’?” Jillian demanded. “Did she seduce you then?”

  “I went willingly enough.”

  Pain constricted Jillian’s chest. “You find her attractive?”

  “Not especially. Let’s just say I made a stupid mistake tonight. One that I will take responsibility for on the dueling field,” Ian said bitterly.

  Here was her chance. “All you need to do is apologize to Lord Sherrington publicly,” Jillian said quickly. “The code demands that he accept it. I realize it will be hard for you to publicly say you’re sorry…”

  Ian turned to her. “Lass, I would say I’m sorry if that would end it, but it won’t.”

  Jillian frowned. “Of course it will. Society—”

  “Society be hanged,” Ian interrupted. “The mon would still be cuckolded. Is being cuckolded by that offal stepson of yours. Sherrington deserves his day on the field to preserve his honor.”

  “But it isn’t you who should be facing him!”

  Ian shrugged. “I’m the one he caught.”

  “But you could both be killed,” Jillian protested.

  “I wilna hurt the mon.”

  Jillian widened her eyes as comprehension dawned. “You’re going to shoot wide and not strike him?”

  “I’ll make it look close,” Ian said.

  “Great. So you’re going to stand there and let him shoot you?”

  “I doona think he’ll shoot to kill,” Ian answered.

  “You doona—do not—think he’ll shoot to kill!” Jillian sputtered. “You can’t be sure of that, Ian.”

  “True, lass. But I’ve faced men in battle before. Sherrington is not a killer. It’s not in his eyes.”

  “But he thinks you tried to seduce his wife! That might make a difference.”

  Ian studied her. “I think he knows the truth.”

  “Truth? Lady Jersey said the earl opened the door to the bedchamber and you were… Well, the intent was quite clear. What other truth can there be?”

  His eyes darkened, his gaze not leaving her face. “That I thought the woman on that bed was ye.”

  “Me? I wasn’t even there.”

  Ian sighed. “If ye had been, I wouldna have made the mistake. I saw the dress, the hair… There was the mask. When ye—she—encouraged me, I thought ye were eager to finish what we’d started.”

  Jillian felt a warmth spread over her body, remembering how good his mouth and hands had felt…before he discovered the scars on her back. Did he think that she really hadn’t felt his disgust? That she would throw herself at him, expecting him to want her? The thought jabbed at her like a thousand needle pricks and she brushed her longing aside and took a deep breath.

  “I can fix this,” she said. “In the morning we will go to see the earl. You won’t have to apologize. I’ll tell him that we… That is, that I…that I have found you attractive and that you thought it was I who was flirting with you. You can even say that I…that I have been throwing myself at you and you just thought I was doing it again. I’ll agree with you. Lord Sherrington will believe me.”

  Ian stared at her, his look inscrutable. “If ye do that, his whore wife will have the gossip all over London in hours. It’s the one thing I have learned from your Society. I’ll not be having your reputation sullied because of me. I know how much Mari’s Season means to ye. ’Tis better for me to meet Sherrington on the field and be done with it.”

  “But you might be killed!”

  Ian reached over to lightly trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand. “Would ye miss me then?”

  Sakes, his touch was un
nerving. It teased her senses, sending tingles down her arms and legs and elsewhere. “I don’t want you killed.”

  “’Tis a start,” Ian said and arched an eyebrow. “Do ye find me attractive?”

  “What?”

  “Attractive,” he repeated. “Ye said ye were going to tell the earl ye found me attractive.” His fingers brushed down her neck and along her collarbone. “Do ye?”

  She knew she was blushing furiously and wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Which it didn’t. What was worse, she couldn’t even look away for he had stroked up her throat and two fingers were lightly, but firmly, holding her chin. “I think you’re aware that all women find you attractive, my lord.”

  A look of amusement glinted in his eyes and he leaned forward, his mouth inches from hers. “But do ye?”

  Her breathing grew shallow as she focused on that sinfully full, sensual mouth so close to hers. His scent of soap and leather surrounded her and she felt her traitorous body aching for his touch anywhere. Everywhere. “Well, I am a woman,” she said evasively, yet all too aware that her breasts felt heavy, the taut nipples straining against the confines of her gown.

  His glance swept the swells of her breasts before he looked back into her eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a devilish way. “Aye. Ye are definitely a woman. Ye dinna answer me. Are ye attracted to me?”

  She had the feeling she was heading into deep, dangerous waters. As much as she wanted to deny any such feelings and remain safely on solid land and behind locked doors, she couldn’t bring herself to lie. She swallowed hard. “I’m attracted to you.”

  A look of pure male satisfaction crossed his face. “Enough to finish what we started the other night?”

  She gave him a startled look. He had seen her back. She had heard the coldness in his voice. “Why would you want to do that?”

  His diabolic grin widened and his eyes hooded. “Why? Ye are a lovely woman, Jillian Alton, and I want to make love to ye.”

  “But you’ve seen my…disfigurement. It’s hideous.”

  His smile disappeared. “’Tis not your back that is hideous, but the mon who did that to ye.”